


Under My Skin

by MagicaDraconia16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Snarry-A-Thon17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: Prompt: Soulmate AU where you get the name of the person in their handwriting on your body somewhere at a certain age. Severus never understood why his mark never appeared - until it finally did when Harry came of bonding age.





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I happened to be reading dialogue-only fics when I chose this prompt, and for some reason, my brain decided that, hey, going the opposite way would be a fantastic idea! 
> 
> NEVER AGAIN!! 
> 
> And maybe one of these days, a story will actually go where I plan it to....

Nobody knew where the first soulmarks had come from, or how the first ones had been discovered, but plenty of research had been done on them over the centuries. A soulmark was always a name. It appeared on the day a person’s soulmate was born, as a very faint name that was almost impossible to read and could easily be mistaken for a shadow. Then over the next two years, as the person grew into their name and began to understand just who that name was, the soulmark would darken, until eventually it stood out so that everyone who was even the least bit magical could read it. 

Most soulmates were born within two years of each other, and the smaller the age gap, the closer the soulmark was to the heart. Consequently, most people’s marks were on their arms, their face, or their chest. Although there had been two instances, way back in the Middle Ages, of a pair having their soulmark on their hips or their thighs, it was exceedingly rare – in fact, almost unheard of – to find an age gap greater than ten years. 

So when a baby with wisps of black hair was born at three twenty-five am on the morning of the ninth of January nineteen sixty, with no identifying mark that the midwife could find, everyone just assumed that he must be the older of the pair. 

When he turned three, and the midwife still couldn’t find a mark around his heart, she raised her eyebrows, and began checking his shoulders and the lower half of his face. 

When he turned five and a mark still hadn’t appeared, with a frown, the healers began checking his forehead and his arms. 

On his seventh birthday, with deep frowns and murmured asides that made little sense to the boy, they reluctantly checked his hips and thighs, too, and even his back, although they’d never seen one _there_ before. 

By the time he received a Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday, with his skin still as clear as it had ever been, it was determined that Severus Snape simply did not have a soulmate. 

His mother, Eileen Snape nee Prince, was disappointed but not surprised by this. She, too, didn’t have a soulmark. It was partly – no, make that pretty much totally – responsible for her parents kicking her out of the family. 

(By the time she’d reached eight without a mark, her parents had casually asked around, and when they’d heard of a boy who had the name ‘Eileen’ curving over his shoulder, they had cast a glamour on her so that the boy’s name ran smoothly over her collarbone and had then promptly contacted the boy’s parents to arrange a marriage between them. 

Unfortunately, when they had met at the age of sixteen, the boy informed them that his soulmark had changed, just the day before, so that it now read ‘Leenie’ in a neat cursive script. Eileen’s father had tried to bluff that it was what Eileen had decided to be called now, but then the boy further informed them that the daughter of their housekeeper – also called Eileen – had said that she didn’t like the inherent, implied permissiveness of his name, which was Marshall, and so had dubbed him Marshan’t, and had consequently been calling him Shar for the past six months. _Her_ soulmark had _also_ changed two days previously to reflect this. 

Unsurprisingly, Eileen’s parents had been furious – and embarrassed – and when Eileen turned seventeen three months later, she found herself standing outside the gates to the family estate, an already packed bag at her feet, and with nowhere to go and no money to get her there. She had latched on to the first Muggle who had showed her the slightest bit of kindness, and her pride wouldn’t let her admit that she had made a terrible mistake when it turned out he’d only helped her to make her more agreeable to . . . certain things. Although she couldn’t complain when those certain things had brought her Severus.) 

Anyway, Eileen was disappointed but not surprised that her little boy didn’t have a soulmark. She had hoped that, in this at least, Severus could have had something normal, something _pleasant_. On the other hand, it meant that Severus could really _choose_ someone, anyone, free from the expectations that soulmarks automatically bestowed. 

Of course, that didn’t mean that he was free from the expectations of everyone _else_. Severus had been so excited, the day that he’d gone to Hogwarts for the first time. By the time his little friend Lily (red hair, green eyes, and the name _James_ tattooed across her heart) and her Muggle parents had arrived to collect him for the trip to King’s Cross, Eileen wouldn’t have been surprised to see him jump out of his skin. 

So when it took a week for her to receive a letter that was barely two sentences long – _Arrived safely. I’m a Slytherin._ – she knew something had gone terribly wrong.

* * *

Despite overhearing the hushed whispers of a couple of healers when he was eight, Severus had never really thought about what a big deal his lack of a soulmark was. After all, his mum didn’t have one, either, and Lily, the only other magical person he knew, was also used to not seeing them, since none of the rest of her family had one. 

So when two boys tumbled into their compartment on the Hogwarts Express and demanded, as everyone else seemed to be doing, as to what their soulmark was and where it was, Severus saw no reason to hide the fact that his skin was completely mark free. 

It didn’t take long for him to regret his candour. 

The boys had quickly departed again, leaving a fuming Lily and a Severus on the verge of tears behind them. Not even their first glimpse of Hogwarts could cheer Severus, as the two boys had apparently been spreading the news throughout their year-group, and if the boys weren’t sneering at him, then the girls were sending him pitying looks. 

Things did not look up when he and Lily were Sorted into different Houses. A Half-Blood in Slytherin was bad enough, but one with no soulmark, either? Intolerable! 

Looking at the gap that was stealthily opening up around him, and at the Gryffindor table where the two boys from the train were not-so-stealthily pointing and laughing at him, Severus swallowed back another surge of tears, and resigned himself to what promised to be a very long, torturous seven years.

* * *

Even after all their years as friends, Lily was absolutely _rubbish_ at cheering him up. Her soulmark had recently changed, and now she spent their short time together complaining about idiots who called themselves _Prongs_ , of all things! What sort of boy was so enamoured of _that_ part of himself that it became his whole identity?! She was _not_ that sort of person, thank you very much! 

Instead of cheering Severus with the ridiculousness of it all or making him grateful he didn’t have to worry about things like that, it just highlighted the fact that he’d _never_ have to worry about things like that. 

And he wanted to.

* * *

He freely admitted it had not been one of his finer moments in life. 

But then again, considering how many far-from-fine moments he’d had, that wasn’t saying much. 

_I don’t need help from **your** Mudblood soulmate!_

No surprise that Lily refused to listen to his pathetic attempts to explain away the unexplainable. He honestly hadn’t _meant_ to say that – it had just slipped out before he even realised it was on the tip of his tongue. 

It was just . . . 

He didn’t want to have to be defended by somebody _else’s_ soulmate. (He didn’t actually want to have to be defended by anybody at all, but when it was the bully’s soulmate . . . well, that was just going too far.) 

He wanted someone to defend him because they knew him, _liked_ him, _understood_ him. 

_Loved_ him. 

Instead, it seemed he really was as soulless as Lily was accusing him of being, his skin still as ink-free as it had been the day he was born. His only choices were those magical beings who were as soulless as he, or common, filthy Muggles. He’d been deemed by some higher power as unworthy of deserving a compatible partner. 

There was nobody out there for him. 

No-one.

* * *

Standing as deeply hidden in the shadows as he could get, Severus watched the newest recruits as they were led to the front of the stone chamber. They looked just as excited and eager as he had been a year ago. They were strong. They were right. They would _win!_

He idly wondered how long it would be before they became as disillusioned as he himself. 

He had stood there himself, just twelve short months ago, convinced that he was finally coming into his own, that no longer would people spit or jeer or mock him. After all, Voldemort – _the Dark Lord_ , his mind corrected with a wince, as the powerful wizard’s red eyes seemed to flicker in his direction – didn’t seem to care about bringing a soulless man into his ranks. Severus wasn’t the only one without a mark on his skin. 

The younger Lestrange brother – Severus hadn’t spent enough time with them to tell them apart yet, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to – had no mark, either. The older brother’s soulmate was, surprisingly, Bellatrix Black (which was a surprise to everyone, considering the way she fawned over their Lord), but _her_ mark merely said Lestrange. 

Apparently, the brothers didn’t mind sharing. 

Severus winced again as the Dark Lord started Marking the new initiates, and the screaming began. 

There had to be a better way than this.

* * *

Lying in the infirmary after everything was over, Severus wasn’t quite convinced that this wasn’t some form of afterlife. 

Not only had he not expected to survive the ferocious battle for Hogwarts, but there was something else wrong with this whole scenario. 

There was a mark on his foot. 

Poppy had discovered it on the sole of his foot whilst doing an exceedingly – and embarrassingly – thorough health check, making sure that blasted snake of the Dark Lo— no, _Voldemort’s_ (he could say that now, he realised, without having to worry about catching a stray Cruciatus for being ‘disrespectful’ – although maybe he wasn’t _quite_ ready to say it out loud. Yet.) hadn’t done any more damage than the obvious. 

(Thank goodness he was a Potions master, and had been regularly dosing himself with miniscule amounts of the most toxic snake venom he could locate, because if it had been left in Potter’s hands, he would have no doubt been left to bleed to a rather-less-than-noble death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.) 

The medi-witch had been furious with him, and had shouted at him for a solid five minutes for ‘pretending he didn’t have a soulmate’. Severus had been too busy gaping at her to correct her assumption. When she finally bustled off, skirts rustling her indignation, he’d conjured a mirror so he could see for himself. 

There was a _mark_ on his foot. 

Granted, it was a wild mess – name upon name scribbled backwards and forwards, which didn’t really bode well for the sanity of his soulmate – but regardless, it was a MARK. 

On _his_ foot! 

Severus dropped the mirror onto the bed beside him. He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. He’d never heard of anyone with an age gap this big – the previous record was ten years, with the marks presenting on the upper thigh. Still . . . _he had a soulmark!_ There was _finally_ someone out there, just for him. 

He hoped. 

Scowling, Severus tilted his head to regard the top of his foot thoughtfully. He knew from experience (even if it hadn’t been his own) that soulmarks could change. They were based on a person’s identity of themselves, so if one changed, the other changed too. 

So what happened if a person identified themselves with more than one name? 

It suddenly occurred to Severus to wonder what his soulmate’s mark said. It could be his name . . . or Greasy Git . . . or Snivellus . . . or even (he shuddered at the mere thought) _Dumbledore’s spy_. 

(He thanked heaven that the mark was on the sole of the foot – he could just imagine the commotion if someone had suddenly discovered the words ‘Dumbledore’s Spy’ printed across their body, especially if Voldemort had still been alive at the time. Even worse – what if a Death Eater had seen that?) 

(And that thought caused another shudder – what if his soulmate turned out to be a Death Eater? Although . . . he supposed they wouldn’t really be a good match for him if they were enthusiastic about violent actions that turned his stomach . . .)

Hearing Poppy bustling her way back up the ward towards him, Severus lay back and closed his eyes. Now all he had to do was figure out just who his soulmate could possibly _be_.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it was incredibly difficult to know where to start looking, when he had no idea who he was supposed to be looking _for_. He didn’t even know if he should be looking for someone older than himself, or younger – it wasn’t _entirely_ beyond the realm of possibility that he’d had that mark all his life and nobody had ever noticed it, although it was very unlikely. 

There were people he could cross off the list – most of those who were his age or close to it, for instance, or those people that were obviously soulmated elsewhere (he couldn’t see names on either Granger or Weasley, but it was blatantly obvious that they were a matched pair). 

It still left him with far too many choices, and no way of narrowing it down unless he went and asked them. 

_Really_ , he thought as he wandered his way past the Hospital Wing one night, _there needs to be a register for this kind of thing._

The sound of muted voices made him pause. One was Poppy, and the other was . . . _Potter?_

Curious as to what would bring the Boy-Who-Lived back to the castle (as far as he knew, Potter had left Hogwarts a few days after the final battle. Nobody knew where he’d disappeared to, although the Weasleys and Granger hadn’t seemed too concerned.) (Then again, they might have been more concerned with mourning whichever twin it was that had fallen.), Severus took a step closer to where the voices were coming from. He was _not_ eavesdropping, he was just . . . gathering information. 

It wasn’t long before he wished that he’d ignored the voices and kept on going. Poppy and Potter were discussing the fact that Potter had a soulmark that read _Expendable. Worthless._

And it was hidden on the sole of his foot.

* * *

He paid no attention to where his feet (those treacherous appendages) were taking him. His mind was too busy turning over what he’d just heard (and oh, how right they were when they said eavesdroppers never heard anything good!). Potter was his soulmate. 

_Potter_ . . . was his _soulmate_. 

Although that did explain all the unreadable names, it still didn’t make sense. How on earth could _Potter_ be _his_ soulmate? Potter had been the leader of the Light (once Dumbledore was . . . gone), the very image of the good and the righteous and the _pure_. 

Severus was . . . was . . . 

Was not. 

He’d been a spy, crawling into the murk of the Darkness, forced to do horrible, terrible things that no decent person would accept. He’d been precisely what Potter’s soulmark said. Expendable. Worthless. 

His ruminations came to an abrupt halt when he was suddenly confronted by a large, glowing stag. He glared at it, recognising Potter’s Patronus. 

_You’re not, you know_ , it whispered, soundlessly, staring directly at him. _You’re not worthless. You’re worth . . . everything._

And then the stag was rushing at him, into him, leaving him staggering back against the wall and panting harshly. He felt strangely shaken, as though he didn’t quite know which way was up anymore. 

What on earth was Potter playing at?

* * *

It took several weeks of daily Patronus visits before Severus finally discovered what was going on. Each time, alternating between _You’re not worthless_ and _You’re not expendable_ , the stag would dive into him, leaving him with a strange feeling of buoyancy that lasted for several hours. 

It was, ironically, another overheard conversation that enlightened him. 

Granger and Weasley had been discussing their friend’s strange actions with Hagrid, and had wondered out loud what he hoped to accomplish with such a peculiar deed. Hagrid had laughed at them, for long enough that Weasley had gotten quite annoyed, and demanded that the half-giant tell them what he knew and they did not. 

Hagrid’s words rang in Severus’ ears for a very long time that night. _Why, he’s tryin’ ter make his soulmate happy ag’in._

Was that really what soulmates did? Did that mean that he should be trying to make sure _Potter_ was happy? And just what constituted ‘happy’, anyway? The few times he’d seen the boy (no, young man now) recently, he hadn’t seemed _un_ happy. He’d appeared to be his normal, aggravating self. And, of course, there was his Patronus. With the amount of . . . joy? or whatever emotion it was giving to Severus every day, Potter appeared to be overflowing with it. 

Deciding to check his mark to see if that could give him some clue (perhaps Potter might have even gotten over his identity crisis (crises?) by now), he was astonished to discover that, although the multiple scribbles hadn’t quite disappeared yet, they _were_ overlaid with a name written in thick black type. 

**MINE.**

Puzzled, Severus spent a good ten minutes staring at the bottom of his foot. What kind of identity was ‘mine’? Had Potter somehow managed to lose what little sense of identity he’d had left?

* * *

Trailing Potter – discreetly, of course – didn’t help him to find an answer. The stag Patronus still found him every day, although never when there was anyone around. (Had Potter done that on purpose?) (Then again, Severus tried his best to _not_ be in public, so maybe it was just a lucky coincidence.) Gradually, the messages changed. Now it was _You’re not worthless; you’re mine_ , or _You’re irreplaceable to me_. 

He wondered if Potter knew just who it was that his stag was . . . courting. 

Until the day he rounded a corner to discover Potter leaning casually against a wall beside his Patronus. 

Before he could attempt to backtrack, or sweep past, the Patronus was gliding over to him. _Yours_ , it murmured, and then dissipated into a cloud of silver mist. 

Yours? Severus shook his head, confused. What—? Light dawned. _Oh._ He conjured his own Patronus, the lovely doe (that had caused Potter Snr to go red with fury when Severus had first managed to conjure it, shouting that Snape had been trying to steal _his_ girl!) that had always appeared for him. Murmuring one particular word in its ear, he sent it over to Potter, where it nuzzled at him before breathing out its message – _Mine_ – and then dissipating just as the stag had done.

* * *

As a person grew into their name and began to understand just who that name was, their soulmate’s mark would darken, until eventually it stood out so that everyone who was even the least bit magical could read it. 

After over thirty years, in one Harry Potter ( _Mine_ ), Severus Snape had finally found his soulmate ( _Yours_ ).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3729463.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1666669.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/972083.html).


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